


the day a star is born

by fuwaesthetic



Category: Tales of Xillia 2
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff without Plot, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Indulgent, Sometimes Canon Compliant, Story Collection, at least one of these is implied one-sided, lots of AUs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 07:02:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 18,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2300708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuwaesthetic/pseuds/fuwaesthetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>drabbles for xillia 2, generally centered around ludger, alt milla, and/or elle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. strawberry jam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from [here](http://imagineyourotp.tumblr.com/post/62732895770/imagine-your-otp-just-had-a-small-argument)

”You must think you’re so funny,” she huffs.

Ludger feels his lips twitch at her tone, and he looks up from the cooking show he’d been watching all morning. A fuming Milla isn’t anything new, but the embarrassed flush across her cheeks and the strawberry jam tucked beneath her left arm are. Not unexpected, though; he  _had_  tightened the jars last night after she told him she’d never need his help opening anything.

(That had been about a door, and he’d only been being courteous!)

"Having trouble?" he asks in reply and jerks his hands to protect his face when she raises the jam jar up. He peeks at her behind his fingers, trying not to grin, and she slams the jar onto the couch’s arm, right by his head.


	2. home is where the heart is

There’s no place Milla feels safe enough to call home anymore, but Ludger’s third-floor apartment comes close when it’s just him, her, and Elle. The quiet clink of dishes rising up in the lull provided by television commercials, the quiet laughter humming in her chest thanks to Elle’s laying on her, how at ease she feels with it all — it’s  terrifying, but it’s nice, too.

Jude visits as often as Leia does - their work isn’t plentiful (with the first being stuck on what to do with his research in the first place, the second with her frequent breaks from “scoops” and writing) and their presence. isn’t. welcome. Milla watches shows over the top of Elle’s head and half-listens to the conversations they carry with Ludger.

"I’m surprised she can stand to watch TV," Leia comments one evening. Milla turns her head a fraction, more interested now that the conversation’s turned to her, and she sees Ludger pause in setting the table as he notices her pique.

"It’s coz I always turn it on and sit on her so she can’t leave when she’s napping," Elle’s quick to reply. Milla sniffs and gives the younger girl a small shove — it’s not hard enough to do anything but rock her a bit.

"I could shove you off at any moment. You know that, right? You’re not holding me down or anything like that."

"So it’s just because of Elle, huh…" Leia sighs - there’s something fond in her tone and Milla’s not sure if she likes it - and sets her hands on her hips. "Well, I’m glad you three are really getting along! It’s like you’re one big family. Like…"

Elle twists her attention from her show’s credits and to the conversation at hand — it’s becoming more interesting to her, apparently, and Milla grunts when the younger girl accidentally slams an elbow into her breast readjusting herself so she’s turned towards their other company. “Milla’s my big sister and Ludger’s my big brother!"

"Yeah, like that!" Leia’s fist meets her hand with a loud thwap, and Ludger finishes setting the table with a small laugh. Milla hmphs and forces Elle to turn back to the television - not that the young girl needs much convincing - so she can set her chin on the top of her head again and sink back into the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so overdone for them but i don't care i don't care [raises hands] i don't care


	3. super married otp part 1 of ???

Rollo meows pitifully the first time she tries to shove him off her stomach; his claws sink in the next time and Milla hisses, covering her mouth to keep it from being too loud and waking Elle beside her. A quick glance makes it certain that the young girl’s still asleep, and Milla groans softly as she feels Rollo’s claws pull themselves out from her sensitive middle.  
  
"You’re as bad as your owner."  
  
"Does that mean you don’t want any breakfast?"  
  
Milla glances down beside the bed — Ludger smiles up at her, hair mussy and him propped up on his elbow. He’d probably been watching the whole thing, the jerk. Like cat like owner, truly.  
  
"I never said that." She gives Rollo another experimental push and squeezes her eyes shut at the tips of his claws pricking through her shirt. "Can’t you get Fat Cat here off?"  
  
"Come on, Rollo." He stands and leans over her to scoop him up; he scratches the cat beneath the chin fondly and watches her as she lifts her shirt to look survey the damage done to her stomach (not too much, thankfully; no blood anyway). His eyes are back on his cat when she looks up again -  _as if she couldn’t feel him watching her_  - and he’s smiling. “Let’s get you fed, boy.”  
  
 _That cat is_ so _spoiled,_  Milla thinks, and gently pulls herself out of bed. She tucks the blankets tighter around Elle before she follows Ludger out, stretching as she goes to sit at her place at the table. Rollo chows happily down on the food poured into his bowl and Ludger yawns, rubbing the back of his neck. He reaches for an apron that isn’t there; Milla surpresses a grin when he feels around for it and frowns.  
  
"…Where did I—?"  
  
"Washroom. You spilled curry on it last night."  
  
He nods and heads to a different room; she listens to him dig through clothes and exclaim when he finds what he’s looking for — and watches him come back with an extra pink sweater. She stares at it, confused, and he drops it in front of her.  
  
"Elle picked it out for you. I think she’d be really happy if you wore it."  
  
"It’s too hot for sweaters," she replies, but scoots her chair back to give her enough room to pull it on. It’s some strange Elympian fashion, with a wide neck (which she’s not totally out of the know on; it’s to show off your shoulders, and she adjusts it accordingly) and… she’s sure the long sleeves aren’t the norm, honestly, but she rolls them up like they are anyway and props her chin in the palm of her hand. Ludger glances over, grabbing a carton of eggs, and she waves her other hand. "How do I look?"  
  
"Like you’re going to be too warm in a couple of minutes."  
  
"Thanks," as she stands, drier than Drellin’s lake. He isn’t wrong - it’s just a matter of time - but she’s determined not to take it off until Elle’s seen her. Milla shifts over to the counter, crossing her arms as Ludger sets down more things beside the stove, and purses her lips. He glances at her, hand hovering over the stove tops’s leftmost dial, and sighs.  
  
"Milla —"  
  
"I know." She knows, she understands. It’s convenient. It doesn’t mean she has to like it, but they’ve argued this before — and it’s too early for raised voices. She turns her face away when he clicks it on and sets the pan on the element. When he asks her what she’d like, she shrugs and gives a curious look at the ingredients he’s set aside. "A peach omelette sounds nice. Don’t give me that look," she growls when his eyebrows shoot up, "it sounds great. Peaches are a little sweet like napples or poranges, right? They’ll be just fine in an omelette."  
  
He makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like a gag, then laughs when she shoves his shoulder with hers — he’s a poor actor. “Whatever you want,” he finally musters once he’s caught his breath, and Milla smiles at him. It switches it a frown when he stares too long - is it really so surprising that’d she’d smile about getting her way?! - and they wash their hands one at a time before they begin.

Making breakfast is incredibly familiar. The gentle brush of elbows and having Ludger reach around her don’t startle her anymore, even if any skin-on-skin contact leaves the spot tingling and she finds herself rubbing the affected place more than once over the course of cooking. He never notices - cooking is something he never takes his eyes off of for long - and she has to force him away from the stove top to wake Elle.

It’s just a matter of plating it all up and setting it on the table; she handles it without any issue, throwing the stove a triumphant look as she turns it off, and taps the chair to the left of her as Elle stumbles out from the bedroom. 

"This one’s yours. Don’t sit in Ludger’s seat, or you’ll have to eat the tomato one again."

"I know," Elle mumbles, tired yet indignant. Truly an inspiration — and Ludger seems to read her mind, because he laughs as he sits. Elle looks between the two of them without a word, and starts in on her rice omelette without a word. Milla breathes in her peach omelette before she cuts into it; it’s a savory, warm bite that makes her toes curl beneath the table. It must show on her face because Ludger grins at her and she kicks him, a small grin pulling back her lips when he jumps and winces.

She wonders for a fraction of a second just how used to she’s gotten to mornings spent with the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know what didn't help my broken heart???
> 
> this. fluff doesn't help don't even think it does


	4. elympian wedding customs are terrible

The dress is nothing special. It’s long and white, with knotted netting decorating the bodice and sheer fabric folding down the sleeves. Milla studies herself in it, lips pursed at her restricted movement, and sets her hands carefully on her hips. Ludger smiles in the mirror and she turns, rustling as she does so.

"What’s so funny?"

"Nothing!" He raises his hands, as if to defend himself from any hits. He wouldn’t be wrong - she’d slap him if she were close enough, mostly because the smile still hasn’t gone away and he doesn’t look sincere about  _nothing_  at all - but she just huffs, yanking the dress up roughly. His gaze drops to her hand at the motion, and she grips the fabric tighter. “You look nice,” he tries, and she gives him one more scowl before she turns back to her reflection. It’s hard to forget his presence when he’s still in the corner of the mirror, smiling, and she opens her mouth to berate him again —

but she’s stopped by the arrival of Elle. The little girl steps quickly over, pulling at Milla’s dress and giving quiet exclamations — like how this was the same dress her mommy wore on her wedding,  _she thinks_ , and she turns to Ludger with the fabric still in her hand. It forces Milla to turn around too, and she crosses her arms across her chest. Ludger’s turned his smile on Elle instead at least, listening intently to her words, and her shoulders relax the longer she goes without a pair of eyes on her.

Not that it lasts long; both of them turn to her in eerie symphony.  _Almost like they’re related_ , she thinks, and feels the room shoot up at least ten degrees when Elle sets her fists on her hips and looks between the two of them.

"Ludger! Don’t you think Milla looks pretty?"

At least she’s not the only one suffering. Ludger’s face lights up a nice shade of pink and he nods, a laugh awkwardly bubbling out of his throat alongside a breath. “I told her she looked nice —”

"Nice isn’t the same as pretty," Elle replies before he can get further. Milla feels her lips twitch and she tilts her head in when he looks to her for assistance.

As if she’d help him out of the ditch he tumbled into.

"She’s right, you know. Pretty isn’t the same as nice."

"I don’t think she’s pretty though…" Ludger sighs and Milla straightens up, feeling like she’s been slapped. Elle frowns at him and opens her mouth — but he presses a finger to her lips and shakes his head. "No, pretty doesn’t suit Milla. Maybe something more like… beautiful?"

"Oh…" Elle stands on her tip toes to study her — and her red face, which she’s sure is clashing with the dress, ‘white goes with everything’ be damned — and Ludger does the same. "Yeah, you’re right, Ludger. Milla’s definitely more beautiful."

"You’ve made your point, you dumb duo." She turns her face away, though she can’t imagine that’s helping any. "Are you gonna sit there and gawk all day?"

"If you’ll let us," Ludger replies for the both of them, and grabs Elle when Milla twists and advances on them in the most threatening manner she can muster.

(It isn’t much, and Elle laughs about her tomato red face — and Milla immediately softens at the sound.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "trying on wedding dresses is literally The Most Self-Indulgent Fic trope ever and i minorly judge everyone who writes it. (but you will *never guess* what this fic is about)" is my original summary for this fic and i'm going to stand by it. i'm judging myself. minorly.


	5. whipcrack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we go to the same university and have the same math class also we're both in sports let's date au
> 
> ...with no dating in sight but, eh, whatever

_”…and the match ends with a stunning break from Maxwell! It’s amazing she could still manage it after being trapped in a twelve-point tiebreaker game by her opponent…”_

"Good for her," Milla mutters to the radio beside her. It doesn’t reply to her; it just keeps spinning through its news, and she serves against the wall again. She keeps the rally going as much as she can, swings getting progressively harder the longer the host goes on about the all-too amazing Maxwell, and catches the tennis ball in her hand with a wince instead of slamming it again.

She turns the radio off and sighs, pulling her hair out of its ponytail. Another day, another practice spent listening about her evidently more talented sister over the airwaves. While Maxwell was off being a hotshot, Milla was…

She throws the ball hard against the wall, stomach twisting, and watches it whiz past her; a frightened yelp sounds behind her and she turns, setting her racket against the wall behind her. The young man rubs his stomach as she approaches, and she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear when she leans over him.

"You okay?"

He nods and she helps him up; he’s just a little taller than her - which makes her smirk - and when he grins at her she feels like she’s back in in middle school, playing her in her first tournament match. Milla returns to her racket, picking it up and inspecting the wrapping on the handle; she’d need to replace it soon. Maybe tonight, since she’d have plenty of downtime —

she feels a tapping on her shoulder and she turns; it’s just the same guy pounded with a ball, and she sighs.

"Can I help you?"

"This is the gymnasium where the basketball team holds their practice, right?"

She runs the list of clubs through her mind quickly and nods, then raises her racket right to the wall clock.

"They’re afternoon hours. Come back around three-thirty and you’ll be right on time." He brow furrows at the information and she purses her lips, resting her racket against her leg. "…if you’ve got class then, I can show you the way to the coach’s office and you can talk to her about joining now."

"I’d appreciate it, Miss…?"

"Milla." She kneels down and zips her racket back up, collecting her practice balls with her other. They’re easy to balance all in one hand, and she tries not to smile at his impressed look. "Come on, she should still be in her office."

It’s a quick walk; Milla knocks on the door twice and peeks in, motions her companion to go, and heads back down to change and grab her radio from the court. She meets him again while he’s coming out of the coach’s office, looking a little happier than previously, and Milla shifts her racket’s bag on her shoulder. “Got everything in order?”

He nods and she nods back, starting down the hall. “Well, I’m glad I could help.”

"Wait, hold on— " The young man grabs her wrist and she pivots on her heel, any hint of friendliness draining out from the soles of her feet. His eyes widen in alarm and he lets go of her, lips quirking a little. "Uh, sorry. I’m just… new here, so I was hoping you’d be able to show me the way to some of my classes?"

She holds out her hand and he stares at it for a moment before digging through his bag and handing over his messily written schedule. She glances at the name scrawled in the top right of the notebook - Ludger, huh? - and motions him to follow he. She heads straight to the student center, picking up a map from the desk and sitting down at one of the open tables. Ludger idles by her as she marks off his classes, a sharpie cap clenched between her teeth; he looks back over when she slams the cap back on her pen and pushes the map over.

"There. You’re gonna have to figure out the best way to get to each of them on your own though. And don’t sweat being late for the first few days — you’re a transfer-in, right? They’ll understand."

"How’d you know I was?"

"We’ve got the same maths and I haven’t seen you in it before." She’d definitely know anyone with hair like his; her eyes flick up and he touches his bangs with a smile bordering on sheepish. Milla turns her wrist up to check the time, glancing at Ludger while he folds up the map and tucks it into his bag. "If you don’t wanna wait an hour to get lunch, you oughta get to the café. The lines really suck if you go any later."

His look switches from pleasantly-happy-about-the-world to panicked-about-something-or-other, and she returns the wave he gives her over his shoulder as he sprints out of the center.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally for my cool brofriend gage (SHOUT OUT TO THE GUY WHO KEEPS PAYING ME FOR FANFICTION AFTER I PROPOSITION HIM SO I CAN BUY MYSELF COOL STUFF). it's more like "university sports au" aka "no one is going to die and the millas can co-exist and maybe be twin sisters because why not"
> 
> aka "everybody lives nobody dies"
> 
> upgraded_highschool_au.jpg


	6. knockout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you’re an actor in a haunted house and i accidentally punched you in the face when you scared me au

”It’s not like I meant to hurt you,” she grumbles; he winces instead of answering (the force behind her punch suggested otherwise) as she firmly pats the alcohol-damp cotton ball to the split skin on his temple. That wasn’t from her punch - his bleeding lip and feeling like he’s going to have to go to the dentist to make sure she hadn’t loosened any teeth are - but he’d knocked into some sturdy props and…

"You shouldn’t go into haunted houses if you’re so jumpy." She stares at him, pressing the cotton harder and harder until he finally asks for her to _please stop that_ and she moves her hand away. Her eyebrows knit, a frown settling on her lips while she picks apart the ball with nimble fingers, and she sets the used item beside her and picks up gauze instead.

"I’m not jumpy. Usually." She sounds like she’s trying to convince not only him but herself, so Ludger only rolls his eyes a _little_ and makes sure she doesn’t see it. She carefully presses the gauze to his temple (where had that gentleness been five minutes ago?) and holds it there until she can wrap bandages around it. He reaches up to touch it, feeling his lips push to one side involuntarily when he skirts a sensitive spot, and his attacker-turned-aider sits back on her hands with a sigh. “It’s been a bad night, all right? I don’t even know where my friends - the ones who went in with me - went.”

The word sounds like poison on her lips, and he sets his elbows on his knees, wondering if you can really be friends with people you don’t get along with.


	7. professional idiots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i do stupid shit and you’re my doctor au

_Professional stuntman_ , he insists, but she just sighs and sets her hands on her hips. She fixes him with that stare - accusing, knowing, the same one his high school teacher gave him when he lied and said Rollo had tore up his math homework and that’s why he didn’t have it - and, just like so many years ago, Ludger feels his stomach drop. She doesn’t look at him for long; she turns her attention back to checking him out, fingers skirting over his bared skin and the bandages Leia had thoughtfully applied after the shoot. He barely suppresses a shiver when her touch alights across his shoulders and up the back of his neck, gently feeling for anything she might’ve missed on her cursory glance of his head.

"How much did you get paid this time?" She pulls away when she asks it, standing to cross the room and filch out few things from drawers. He eyes the needle and thread she sets on the counter beside her warily and swallows back whatever pleas he was going to start muttering about not getting stitches this time.

(She’d only admonish him, saying he should be used to it by now.)

"About 250… I think."

Her look is incredulous, and it’s almost enough to make him laugh, but that feeling subsides when it twists angrily and she slams the drawer shut with the heel of her palm. He raises his hands when she comes closer, needle gripped tightly in her fingers, and sees his wide-eyed look reflected in her narrowed gaze.

"Please calm down before you do anything."

"You’re getting gypped. You know that, right? You know you’re getting paid," she slams her items on the tray beside her, and it threatens to topple but doesn’t, "a hell of a lot less than what you deserve for putting up with all their stupid, stupid stunts, right?"

He didn’t, actually, but he swallows the admission and watches the floor. She jerks his chin up, her frown growing, and all of sudden it just — vanishes. Her shoulders slump from their angry tightened form, the creases in the middle of her forehead relax, and she leans against the table he’s sitting on. She’s close enough he can smell her perfume (honey, but not too overpowering; professional) and he jumps when she gives a shaky sigh and looks at him.

"Sorry. Not my place." He shrugs his shoulders at her words and she purses her lips, then works on gently pulling some of the bandages off of his arms and hands. The ones on his left shoulder come next - she gives a small _ah-ha_ at finding exactly what she thought she’d have to stitch up beneath them - and he sits as still as he can as she applies medicine and gauze. He jerks a little when the needle presses into sensitive skin and she gives him what he’s pretty sure is an apologetic look, but he’s never seen her look sorry in the year he’s had her as his doctor.

It’s a little weird.

"There you are, Mr. Kresnik," she sighs; her hand’s smoothing over bandages and skin again, making sure everything’s tight but not _too_ tight, and he feels her tap his shoulder. “Don’t get this wet and don’t put too much stress on it. We wouldn’t want your stitches to come loose before their time, do we?”

"No ma’am," he replies, and her cheekbones dust with pink out of the corner of his eye. He bites his lip, trying not to laugh, and slides off the table when she steps away to get her clipboard. He pulls on his shirt again, wincing at the motion, and she presents him with a bill.

He blanches at the amount and she snorts, tapping her pen on her clipboard.

"Just what the hell were you expecting? Return visits for the _same reason_ are just going to get pricier.” There’s an edge of amusement to her words and he looks at her, frowning a little. She covers her mouth, glancing away, then glances back to him. The edges of her eyes crinkle a little. “Don’t worry. Your insurance can cover it. Though,” and the crinkles disappear, skin smoothing out so perfectly it’s almost as if they hadn’t existed in the first place, “I feel like _I_ should be getting paid more for having to deal with you.”

"I could make it up to you," he says, and she jerks her gaze to him from when it’d been landing on the pages she’s thumbing at. It feels like the first full sentence he’s spoken in hours, with the way his throat is dry and tight, and he rubs the back of his neck. His thumb ghosts over bandages. "I mean — if you’d like, we could go out to eat or something, or I could make you something. I’m a pretty good cook."

"The offer’s nice," she replies after a quiet moment, her fingers smoothing the bottom of her clipboard and returning to rubbing the sides of it, "but we’ve got a professional relationship, Mr. Kresnik, of doctor and sorely frequent patient. I can’t —" she hesitates, then huffs. "I can’t date a patient, _even if it’s just one dinner_ ,” she stresses the end of it when he opens his mouth to object.

He closes it and nods. It’s easy to understand, even if he feels his heart sink a little at the rejection, and she gives him a rare smile. It jumps back up in his chest and threatens to escape through his throat.

"Just don’t come back too soon, all right? I _do_ have patients beside you.”

"Don’t miss me too much then," he jokes, and her face turns scarlet before it’s out of sight and he’s out of the door, laughing softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't look at me like that i have a stupidly serious thing for abrasive characters taking care of people i just. shut up and go away, okay!?


	8. rest in pieces kresnik household toaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> imagine the most serious character you know  
> now imagine them getting scared by the toaster going off as they walk by

"I needed a new toaster anyway," Ludger sighs, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. Milla gives the blackened spot where his toaster _used_ to be a look torn between frustrated and apologetic; Elle frowns, setting her fists on her waist; and Ludger shakes his head before the youngest of them can retort, feeling it coming. She huffs, hopping over to the television, and takes a seat in front of it.

He waits until she's thoroughly distracted to start cleaning up the pieces. Not a moment later, Milla joins him on the floor, and he raises his eyebrows a little at her willingness.

"It was my fault," she grumbles. A flush works its way across her face, and he doesn't know if it's because she's embarrassed at having _quite literally blown up his toaster because she was scared when it went off while she was going by it_ , or if she's embarrassed about admitting it was her fault. She glares at him when she catches him staring and he nods, turning away to scoop up the pieces behind him.

It's more likely that she's angry about being embarrassed. Ludger get halfway through a sigh before he bites down on it, hearing Milla straighten at the sound, and he pushes down his irritation at the situation. _She's not used to spyrix_ , he thinks, and he keeps it like a mantra. If anything, she hates it, so he can't be surprised that --

"Sorry."

\-- that she was... his line of thought drops of and he looks at her over his shoulder. She's still picking up pieces and grouping them up on a pile, a small wince jerking her lips when she grabs one too fine. Instead of stopping, though, she sticks her finger in her mouth and keeps on with her good hand. It doesn't seem like she's going to say anything else -and honestly, he's not even sure she just apologized, but she glances up at him before he turns and something in her gaze keeps him rooted.

Ludger finally turns away when she looks back down, lips pursed, and listens to the hum of commercials and kids' shows in the background instead of the odd cadence his heart's picked up from Milla's genuinely apologetic look.


	9. whirling assault

"You'll never master it if you keep this up," Milla scolds him; Ludger groans in response, peeking open his eyes, and stares at the hand offered to him.  He takes it when her look goes from 'expectant' to 'angry' and makes a small sound when she pulls him up. He collects his swords, knocked away from their last try, and turns to find her resuming her position. When he doesn't immediately do the same, the hand holding her sword drops to her side and her other rests on her hip.  
  
"Giving up already?"  
  
"Can we take a break?"  
  
She worries her lip - she always does this when she's thinking, lately, and he's sure she's picked it up from Leia despite her best efforts not to get too friendly with everyone - and nods. Her hand coasts through her hair while he sighs in relief and heads over, offering his arm. She stares at it, a crease in her brow, and Ludger gives her the most cheerful smile he can muster when she looks to him in response.  
  
She doesn't take his arm and he doesn't feel half as offended as he thinks he would be, if it were anyone but her. They return to the inn and up the stairs, passing by curious looks and cheerful greetings, and Milla stretches out on the bed she usually shares with Elle while Ludger looks through their supplies for ingredients. Fifteen minutes later, he's at home in the inn's kitchen; the chefs had been suspicious about his queries to use it, but had quickly grown used to his presence. In fact, he'd dare to say they were grateful.   
  
Milla's asleep when he returns. The usual irritation on her face isn't there -- it's replaced with a somewhat peaceful look, though when she jerks sharply he can tell she's not having a particularly restful nap. Ludger sets down the twin bowls of soup quietly and sits on the edge of the bed -- he's not sure if he should wake her or just leave her be. Both options give him an uneasy feeling, but he reaches over and shakes her shoulder anyway.  
  
"Milla --"  
  
She jerks away, off the bed and onto the ground with an angry thump. She stares at him, terrified, and he's sure he has to look almost identical. The look fades from everything but her mouth and her eyes, and she stands up without taking the hand he stretches over the other edge of the bed.  
  
"I'm fine," she huffs. She brushes off her clothes idly and glares at him - they're like searing knifes he swears - when he doesn't immediately retract his hand. "I said I was fine, all right?! I'm -- it's -- I'm fine," she repeats, her voice edging off into quiet, and he buries his retort deep in his chest with a nod.  
  
Dinner is quiet punctured by slurps. When he gives her an irritated look, she only raises her chopsticks and informs him that it's a sign that someone's enjoying a meal. He grins at that, not being able to help himself, and Milla blushes. (She tries her best to not slurp after that, which just makes his grin grow.)  
  
They're back outside behind the inn when it gets dark; the area's lit up enough by balls Milla's hung up in the air, and when he voices his concern about her mana she merely shakes her head and draws her sword.  
  
"It'll be fine." She pauses, and he can just make out an embarrassed flush red enough to match her eyes. "Stop worrying about me and start worrying on getting this arte right, got it?"  
  
"I can't help it," he replies, and realizes he shouldn't have said so to a woman known to get angrily embarrassed over the slightest show of genuine niceness while she's wielding a sword very, very expertly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually really love the fact you can get whirling assault from alt milla if your affinity is high enough with her because that means she teaches you it and if i'm not a sucker for characters practicing moves together then i don't know what i was even born on this earth to be


	10. eyelash

”Don’t move,” Milla orders, her hand raising. Truthfully, that alone is enough to give him the idea that maybe he _should_ move, but by the time he’s about to backflip away she’s already plucking something off his cheek. When he focuses his eyes on it, he sees it’s just…

"An eyelash?"

"Elle was telling me about some dumb superstition." Milla twirls the eyelash between her fingers, lips pursed, then glances back at him. She shoves it into the palm of his hand and then turns in the same breath, cheeks pink. "About how you can make a wish on one or whatever. I just thought you’d like it, considering how things are going for you."

"Oh, uh…" Ludger stares at the silver lash in his hand - how had she seen it, anyway? - then up to her back. Her shoulders are hunched, as if she’s crossing her arms. "Thanks, I think?"

"I couldn’t wish on it anyway." Milla glances back at him, a vexed crease in her forehead, and he glances away. It makes her cough and the next thing he knows, her hand’s around his tie and she’s pulling him closer. "That _wasn’t_ a jab at you. Only the person it belongs to can make a wish on it, all right? That’s all.”

Ludger nods, swallowing any apologies he might’ve had.


	11. "who pronounces it that way?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU AU AU AU AU AU AU AU AU AU AU AU

” _I_ do,” Mimi snarls, and Ludger raises his hands — he hadn’t really expected her to get so defensive over a little question. She narrows her eyes at him, turning back to the daikon she’d been chopping after his hands lower back to his sides, and sniffs in what he imagines is _supposed_ to come off haughty, but just sounds like a petulant child not getting their way. “Besides, that’s the way it’s supposed to be said, although I can’t imagine someone like _you_ would know that. Weren’t your marks absolutely terrible in English last exam?”

Ludger winces; he hadn’t really wanted to remember his barely passing status, and it isn’t made any better when Mimi laughs softly beside him.

"You look like you just got punched in the gut."

"Well," he coughs, reaching past her to turn the heat down to a simmer, "you never did know how to pull punches, so I guess I kind of did?"

"I never have to pull them with you," she replies, oddly warm. It’s only made weirder by the smile on her face and the way her eyes genuinely crinkle at the edges, all of which drops when he lingers a little too long and she raises the knife threateningly. "I’m cutting here, dumbass, unless you wanna go into the ozoni too?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU AU AU AU AU AU AU AU AU AU AU AU


	12. it's always that blue, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> afterlife au, i guess.

It takes him a moment to recognize the tune, but it's unmistakably the lullaby that Julius used to hum, that he'd hummed when they met him in the Seafalls and when Ludger had put his spear through him not once but twice, that Jude and Milla had hummed together, that Ludger himself had hummed to comfort Elle while pain tore through his body and his existence disappeared in the blink of an eye. Instead of his brother's deep, melodic voice though, it's in a higher pitch; it doesn't sound as sweet, and the breaths taken between each part are softer.

It takes him a moment to realize it's Milla. Not Maxwell Milla, _his Milla_. He opens his eyes to find her eyes closed, her knees pressed gently against his shoulder; she looks strangely peaceful, humming. The sky is a bright, blinding blue just past her, with white clouds curled like smoke off of rooftops, and the song cuts off the minute he shifts onto his elbows.

The peaceful expression disappears, too, replaced by angry embarrassment. That's the final straw for him, the one that lets him know this really is the one he met first, and he ignores the sharp pains in his body in order to sit up. Her name is just an exhale on his lips, throat too tight to say anything else, and Milla stands up with a few more creases on her forehead than he's used to seeing.

"It took you long enough." The difference between her and Milla Maxwell is akin to jumping from a boiling bath to an icy one; he wonders if blanched vegetables feel the same way when they're cooled quick to retain their color. The only difference right now is it's in reverse - from Cool Milla to Hot Milla. He stretches, feeling every part of him crack and pop and ache and tear, and Milla takes his hand despite the fact he hadn't been holding it up for her. She pulls him to standing - he doesn't miss her fingers squeezing his, or the way she tucks them together like she never wants to let go (again) - and they travel across wavy, vibrant grass and shimmering pools of water. He's either dead - likely - or dreaming - even more likely - because the walk stretches for miles but never, ever feels like a day's trip. The sun hasn't even moved since he woke up, still brightly on top of them, and Milla's grip refuses to waver no matter how long or far they travel.

Not to mention that the last time he saw her, she'd been scared and determined, falling someplace she knew she didn't want to go to but had to, anyway. It gets hard to swallow when he remembers the endless stretch of nothing beneath them, how tightly he had clung and the look on her face when it had fallen out beneath her in the first place. He squeezes her hand - ironically, the one she had flicked away when she made her choice. Milla glances at him, a fire struggling to remain cool and impassive, and Ludger plants his feet in the sand. The scenery had changed to a beach at some point (he thinks it might be Kijara Seafalls, and he thinks they might be going to Nia Khera -- or something like it, some memory trapped beneath salt and heat and memories of meeting Milla and her abrasive nature), and he watches the waves splish and splash in front of him.

"Where are we?" he asks, voice faint. It occurs to him it's the first time he's spoken a sentence in a while, the first time since he'd made his choice to save Elle above all else. Milla purses her lips the way she always does (did) when she thought he'd asked or said something stupid and looks at the glassy water, too.

"Your guess is as good as mine." She sounds uncharacteristically muted, though everything returns to full volume when she turns to him and frowns. She leans forward a little, evidently to intimidate him, but it just has him looking down at her from his nose and their entwined hands almost resting at her hips. "It changes a lot, okay? So don't give me that look."

He hadn't realized he'd been _giving_ her a look until she mentioned it, so he closes his mouth and looks up at the still bright sky. She straightens up in his peripheral and stares up at it too; their hands swing between them idly. Maybe it really was just a dream.

"It's always that blue."

Ludger starts to ask why and thinks better of it, knowing she'll just snap at him for asking questions she doesn't know the answer to. Milla tilts her head towards him, her lips parting -- but she closes them, firm enough whatever she was going to say or ask or berate him about can't get out. She still hasn't noticed, or maybe she doesn't care, that they're still holding hands, that their fingers are together, that they're getting closer and when he looks at her, he sees yellow curls and inhuman red eyes and

steps back, feeling warm. Her cheeks match her eyes when he does and she huffs, stomps her foot, and turns hard enough to put a strain on their hands.

"I was just making sure you were--" she swallows for some reason, and for the first time Ludger thinks she might've been wondering the same thing as him. Where they were - if this was real - if they were dead or awake or dreaming or all three at the same time, because he can feel pain unknown to dreams and death but there's no way, no possible way, that they could both be here, the mountains curling over them like shells half-hidden in the sea. It makes him tug her hand until she steps back towards him, a civil distance between them. Milla licks her lips, gaze on the shifting landscape. "I was just making sure you were real. And Ludger. But nope, there's no mistaking that dumb, plain face of yours for anyone else's."

He feels insulted - _plain faced? dumb?_ \- but nods. He reaches up with his other hand - he doesn't miss the way she still flinches or the guarded look she gives him when the edges of his lips pull tight - to pat her head. Not once, but twice, and then he relaxes his hand against her head. Milla looks at him through her bangs, look shifting into something he's never been able to read despite the fact she's an open book shouting the words on her pages. He smiles anyway.

Ludger bites the inside of his lip when, just over her shoulder, his mirror image inclines his head in greeting.


	13. halloween or s/t

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yay this one has julius in it
> 
> i love julius i want to write him in fics more...

"You’re never too old to trick-or-treat," Elle says amicably, hands placed on her hips; Milla stares at her for a moment, then straightens up and rests a hand on her waist. Ludger and Julius both jump when her gaze rests on them instead - she favorably resists the urge to  _really_  give them something to jump about - and agree with Elle, not too long after the fact.

"Besides, I’m here to watch Ludger." Julius presses his glasses against the bridge of his nose factually - as if that makes it any better, or gives him reason to go around dressed a zombie - and Ludger gives him a warm-but-exasperated look.  _Siblings,_  she muses, and tilts her head, waiting for Ludger’s excuse.

"I’m watching out for Elle." Predictably. It doesn’t explain  _his_  costume -  vampires are so ten years ago, who even seriously wears that anymore? - or why he has a basket of candy the same as Elle. She’s certain he hasn’t been given any by the houses they’ve visited and surmises he must’ve either bought it or Elle had been giving him the ones she didn’t like; a curious glance when they start walking again proves her second guess right, and seeing as Julius’ bag has even less she guesses he probably got the ones Ludger didn’t want, either.

It’s none of her business, she decides, what the witch-vampire-zombie trio decides to do.


	14. pissdrunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> college au.
> 
> 1 - living conditions; 7 - you peed on my car. you were drunk. i was in the car. there will be hell to pay.

_Not_  running over the guy who just pissed on her car and then passed out against it has to be a point towards good karma. It has to be, because otherwise the fact she’s even tucking him back in (her red cheeks aren’t entirely from the cold) and getting him into the backseat is all for nothing. It has to be, because convincing her roommate to help her get the guy up the three flights to their room and then actually giving him a futon to sleep on is all for nothing.

It has to be, because running him over, punching him in the face, leaving him to freeze, kicking him when he wakes up all groggy, drool across his mouth and hair disheveled in a way that looks really, really good on him — all of that would feel so much better than coming back with a cup of coffee and seeing him struggling to close the blinds on their windows. Mimi smirks a little when he fumbles with the cord - she’ll have to thank her roommate for being so shitty with it - and sets down the mug with a solid thunk.

The guy looks over - and, again, seriously, putting her foot in his face that definitely isn’t, totally isn’t, one-hundred-and-ten-percent isn’t attractive in that sneaky boyish way would feel  _ten times nicer_  than what she’s doing now - and his fingers stall on the cord.

"Uh," he says, quite intelligently. Mimi doesn’t say anything, but makes her way around the futon and nudges past him. He smells like sweat and beer — she crinkles her nose and he grimaces, catching her look. The blinds clatter down (he winces, again, and she takes a grim satisfaction in it) and the room dims considerably. Mimi _thinks_  she hears him mutter a thanks, but she’s not sure; she’s already kneeling down to fold up the futon, blankets included. The ever-so-definitely-not-actually-kind-of-cute-guy hesitates beside her — it’s obvious he has no idea what to do.

And probably no idea why he’s in a girl’s room, or what happened. The thought makes her lips tighten, because it means she  _can’t_  beat the shit out of him because she’d feel bad.

She’s pretty sure her good streak of karma’d immediately flip if she did it too.

They cover most of his questions over putting away beds and sheets to wash; she makes him a cup of coffee when he asks, very politely, if he can have some of hers, and by the end of it she knows exactly three things for certain.

One, his name is Ludger Kresnik. (It’s a dumb, outlandish name, but she can’t exactly point it out; her surname is Maxwell, after all.)

Two, he doesn’t even attend this school. He goes to one almost thirty minutes away by train, and he’s not even sure how he ended up  _here_  of all places.

Three, he’s pretty good at making up for the fact he pissed on her car. Ludger helps her navigate the stairs when her arms are full of things needing to be wash - clothes, blankets, sheets, the futon, a pair of lingerie he doesn’t break eye contact for six seconds and that makes her feel like kicking him down the stairs might actually improve her fortune - and he makes chocolate chip pancakes after they’ve shuffled everything into machines and set them off. Mimi can’t deny they’re excellent, and Ludger laughs; his niece says the same thing, in the same tone, apparently. He washes her car despite the morning chill, arms working hard to scrub off the most obvious of things and the spots that Mimi lies through her teeth about seeing just to see if he’ll go for it (and he does; gullible or well meaning, she’s not sure).

It’s not exactly what she imagined would happen, but she’ll take it.


	15. amen amen amen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ooh this one has alvin in it /starts sweating nervously

”If you like her, you should let her know.”

Ludger stares at Alvin, then his drink; he’s had three already, but a fourth honestly doesn’t seem so bad right now. The older man catches his look and sighs, wrapping his arm around his shoulder.

"I know it’s…" he pauses, searching for the words. For that, Ludger’s grateful. It gives him more time to try and figure out what he wants to say, too. "Weird, especially considering the rest of us know the Milla from this dimension, but you and the other Milla and Elle all get along pretty well."

Alvin glances at him, a grin stretching across his lips. “So why not take a shot at it?”

Ludger thinks about the last time he confessed to a girl, decides there’s no way that something that embarrassing could happen again, and - maybe it’s the alcohol deciding  _why not_ , but he nods and gives Alvin his thanks.

Milla is, surprisingly, waiting outside of the bar. Her eyes widen when she sees him and her nose crinkles when he laughs, a foot of distance between them.

"You smell gross," she huffs, and when he offers his hand she hesitates; she takes it when he asks her to please get him home and helps him along the streets, towards Duval’s station. Along the way she grumbles about the distance, how Elle had tried to stay up to wait for him and had gone to sleep on the couch as a result, how the lights flickered twice since then. Her grip tightens with every word until it’s almost painful, and he expresses his discomfort with a cough.

It loosens immediately, but she doesn’t apologize. He’s come to expect that.

Stepping onto the train reminds him of their first ride. Milla’d been wary, of course, stepping on; even with the push of people she’d taken her time, lips pressed together and stubbornly refusing anyone’s assistance. Even Elle had been refused, citing she was a big girl and she could do it herself. Not that it had stopped her from grabbing onto him when the train lurched slowly into motion. Ludger had snickered quietly, but Milla’s arm in his now makes him dizzy and warm. It’s no longer tight like their first few trips - she’s hardly startled anymore.

But it’s nice. Ludger closes his eyes, exhaling softly, and doesn’t notice he’s leaning against her until Milla’s hand is pressing against his cheek.

"Don’t drool on me," is all she says, though, and when he gives a firm nod she lets his head loll back onto her shoulder. He thinks he might’ve slept a little on the way back to Trigleph, with the hustle and murmur of people in the car around them - not that many, because not that many people decided taking the night train was a good idea - and the throated hum of a song he doesn’t know from Milla beside him. Trigleph arrives sooner than he expects because of it, and he’s pushed gently into the aisle by Milla.

The elevator is his worst enemy, to the point where he knows he  _begs_  that they take the stairs instead. It doesn’t take much convincing, and it’s probably the one time Milla’s disdain of spyrixes works in his favor. His stomach is saved from the flipping bounce of the elevator, and he clambers up the steps with his arm around her waist for support. She swipes his card for him, quietly shutting the door behind them.

Elle stirs, but doesn’t wake. Both of them seem to be of the same mind when they decide leaving her there is probably the best choice of action at this point, so Milla helps him to his bedroom. Pulling her down with him when he falls into bed isn’t the best choice he’s made, but she’s heavy and warm and indignantly hissing into his ear question about what he thinks he’s doing, exactly. Ludger frowns, feeling her breath against his lips, and asks if he can kiss her instead of answering.

"What the hell," she replies, voice pitching higher at the end of her question, and Ludger rolls them over; Milla stares up at him, an angry and embarrassed red, and he feels warmer. Much, much warmer. If it’s the alcohol — or the closeness — or the fact he asks, again, if he can kiss her — he doesn’t know. Maybe all of those things.

He really, really wants to kiss her. The feeling doesn't go away when she squirms and asks him why, or when she looks incredibly unimpressed with his shrug and  _I just want to_ answer. He leans down on his forearms, watching her tense up and her mind race behind her eyes for a reason, an answer, a question, anything. It makes him frown and balance himself so he can push her bangs away from her forehead and press a kiss to the bared skin. Milla's breath shudders out beneath him and he draws back enough to look her in the eyes again.

"Can I kiss you?" he repeats in a whisper, chest full of lead. It doesn't feel any lighter when she licks her lips or when she nods, on the condition that they never, ever talk about it ever again. It's an easy enough promise to keep when he's sure he's not going to even remember it, and when he agrees to it her fingers slip up his tie and pull him down. Despite the yank, the kiss is soft and gentle and he's quickly realizing that being drunk and being inexperienced is working against him full time. They switch positions again, Milla caging him against the wall with one arm and her hand still playing with his tie, and everything feels like a television without a channel. 


	16. five sentences meme 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elle's not sure how to feel about this new Milla, who likes eating more than cooking and is friendlier with everyone else than the Milla she knew was.

This Milla offers her smiles but doesn’t look mad when Elle doesn’t return them; this Milla promises she’ll keep her safe, because that’s what the other Milla ( _her_  Milla) would’ve wanted.

Elle can’t bring herself to hate this Milla, because she looks just like her Milla and even acts the same, sometimes, with her burning spirit and single-minded determination and the way she takes on challenges without a second thought. She can’t hate someone who blushes the same as her Milla, starting from the tip of her nose and spreading across her cheeks—even if it’s directed to someone entirely different, and even if it’s paired with a smile she’s never seen on her Milla’s face—just on her daddy’s, when he’d look at a picture of her mother, or when he’d brush the hair out of her eyes, or when she’d sneak out of her room late at night and catch him staring at the wide, open water of Lake Epsilla with the name Lara on his lips and countless promises and updates on how they’d been since she passed.

She settles on “irritated” and “angry” and “tired” and “lonely,” because even though this Milla is everyone else’s Milla—save Ludger, who she catches looking at his hands every so often and wondering why he does that—she isn’t hers, and every act of kindness that makes her happy sends her heart dropping to her stomach at the same time.

She feels hollow, just like she had when she’d seen her daddy drop to his knees.


	17. five sentences meme 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If curiosity killed the cat, Ludger should've been dead by now, but there was just so much of Milla he wanted to know, to protect, that he couldn't keep himself away from her.

She avoids his questions by pointing out he can just ask any of the  _other_  Rieze Maxians in their group; she’s uncomfortable when she says it, a frustrated crease to her brow when he frowns lightly at her answer. His reply is always that he wants to hear it from her (because she never talks about it unless she’s putting her nose in the air about their customs, because she has a faraway look when they stand in Nia Khera and she touches things that were hers a lifetime ago, mouthing words he can’t hear and only lightening up when Elle grabs her skirt and drags her attention away from memories the little hut on the edge of the village digs up), and it takes a few more minutes before she sets her hands on her hips. He always grins, knowing he’s won.

"There isn’t much to learn," she warns him again and again, every time he knows he’s managed to persist long enough for her to start talking; Elle’s often a help, legs kicking the air while she waits to hear questions and answers, but before Ludger can start Milla fixes him with a look—something tells him she has a question of her own, so he closes his mouth and motions for her to go on.

She leans back, pressing fingers to her temples, and asks, “Why do you want to know?”


	18. bunny girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fractured milla models a bunny outfit. ludger is a sorry-ass virgin. the usual.

It accentuates her

everything.

Ludger feels like a kid at a peepshow, peeking through his fingers as Milla adjusts the costume to her liking. She pushes her hair back over her shoulder, scowling when her headband falls off, and Ludger has to do his age in his head to make sure he isn’t actually the fifteen year old boy he feels like he is when she bends over to pluck it off the ground by its bunny ears.

She fits them back on and turns towards him—her face immediately reddens and he drags his hand down from his eyes to cover his mouth instead. His pocketwatch ticks quietly on the dresser, every click a reminder to his heart to keep beating and a reminder that time has not, in fact, frozen just because neither of them are moving or saying anything.

She’s the first to speak, of course; she’s never been good at keeping her silence or waiting when she has anything on her mind. Milla swallows something back and crosses her arms over her chest, trying to look as above-it-all as she can.

And failing, thanks to her colored face and the way her two fingers tap impatiently—anxiously?—at her bicep.

"How do I look?" she asks, stalling only once on the first word. Ludger’s not sure how to answer.

If he says the truth, she’ll probably smack him, but if he lies, she’d probably do that, too. He swallows while he feels time tick by, knowing he’s running out of time, and turns his face to the floor. Her long, fishnet legs are in front of them and her red heel’s started tapping too—despite that, he can't seem to get the words to come out right in his head. They’re all floating there, refusing to be put into sentences or anything resembling a complete thought. He opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again—only to close it another time and watch her take a meaningful step closer.

Either way he’s dead, so here goes nothing, he supposes.

"Great," he mutters, then coughs and repeats it a little louder; and then, as a follow-up, "Really great. Amazing."

"…Thanks," Milla says, voice quiet, and she smacks a gloved hand against his shoulder when he looks up, surprise. "—Don’t give me that look! Y-You complimented me, so it’d only make sense that I’d thank you for it, isn’t it!?"


	19. prom sucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ludger/Milla, we just got ditched by our prom dates, time for revenge.

"Don’t  _stare_ ,” she hisses, jerks his arm. Ludger squawks and she slams her hand over his mouth next; her hand is surprisingly soft against his lips, but he gets distracted very quickly by her manicure pressing into his cheek. “Do you  _want_  them to know?”

He pulls her hand away, gripping it between them. “I thought that was the point?”

She stares at him, frustration easy to read, until he sighs and lets her press their foreheads together. It’s a slower song now, so he sets his hands on her hips and can’t suppress the shiver that comes with her fingers trailing up his arms. Milla gives a discreet glance across the room and—kisses him. It’s enough to give him a start and to almost pull away to ask what’s up, but she pulls his hair and he winces against her lips. She only pulls away after a few more moments, resting her head in the crook of his neck; he can feel her smug smile against his throat.

"They definitely saw that," she murmurs, then steps on his shoe when he gives a sigh edged with exasperation.


	20. tabletop au 1

Ludger is the first to step lightly across the log, feeling it sink slightly under his weight into the marsh. He moves forward a few more steps, resting in the middle, before he turns his head enough to motion on the rest of them. Milla and Jude are next, the latter guiding their usual leader—she’d rolled a heavy injury almost half an hour earlier, leaving her dependent on their young priest. Leia steps onto the log hesitantly, then turns—in real life—to her right.

"Mimi, do I  _have_  to roll for clumsiness?”

"You’re the one who picked it as a trait. Anytime balance comes up, you’ve gotta. It's a dexterity saving roll, just so you know." The blonde leans back in her seat, the campaign sheet resting against her thighs; she switches her daze back to Leia, raising her eyebrows. "This wouldn't happen if you'd think before you decide to pick ‘something totally cute’ as one of your character’s flaws."

Leia slumps in her seat, and Ludger can’t help but feel a little sorry for her. She’d been getting bad rolls all night, and he was beginning to suspect this time wasn’t going to be any better.

"What happens if we fall in?" Leia asks, once she’s done thinking. Mimi hums, tilting her head, and happily informs them the marsh will suck them in if they slip and they’ll die. Leia stares—if you looked up ‘crestfallen’ in the dictionary, you’d be sure to find it there as a perfect example of one. She sighs, picking up the dice, and stares at them with a look of total resignation.

"I’ll just raise you back up if you die," Ludger offers, when it becomes clear Leia’s praying to the Dice Gods above for a good roll. She smiles at him, but Mimi kicks him under the table and he yelps, grabbing his knee. "Hey!"

"You’re  _not allowed_   _to do that,_ " she hisses, and he doesn’t even have to retort; the rest of the party does instead, pointing out the reasons why and how he could. Even their former DM gives the clear, grinning childishly, and Mimi stares at Alvin so hard Ludger swears he’d be the first to go if he was playing with them. She finally settles back again, her fingers pressing her temples. "Fine," she finally says. "Fine. If you get a natural 20, Ludger, you can use your spooky necromancy powers to make her undead so she can still travel with your party. Happy?"

He nods and Leia sighs, shoulders relaxing. Mimi shakes her head again, another crease on her forehead—he’ll make it up to her, he decides, though he’s pretty sure she’d say that nothing he could do could erase all the trouble she’s been put through because of him and his stupid ideas.

Luckily, Leia rolls just high enough to avoid her marshy/undead fate, and they troop on into the boggy mess.


	21. tabletop au 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning: established relationship and this really was supposed to be more tabletoppy but it spiraled out of my control

"And what’s Rollo rolling?" she asks, propping her bare feet in his lap; Ludger frowns at her, but sets the dice in front of their wizard cat and checks the roll when Rollo knocks them off of the table.

"Good enough to pass the magic detection test."

Mimi blinks at him, then sits up higher in her seat as if that’s going to help her see the numbers clearer than actually getting up to check. Maybe she believes him, or maybe she just wants the campaign to reach a suitable stopping point for the night—because she sits back in her chair and lets it pass. Jude smiles at him when Ludger relaxes, in a way he’d say was  _knowing_  if he knew what Jude thought he knew, and Mimi clears her throat to get the attention of the rest of tonight’s smaller party.

"Your group successfully passes the test to enter Greenwood, a city of people who hate magic as much as Redhill hates people who can’t use it. Greenwood is filled to the brim with technological wonders, the likes of which your party has never seen. Steam pours from buildings on the rise as people mill about, quietly exclaiming over the recent royal vote. A passing courier shoves a notice in your party leader’s hands; it’s about the duchy receiving a new duchess after the old duke was disposed of by an angry mob due to his open-minded ideas about working with the necromancers of Summerstone. The first building to your left is a well-lit inn, with the sounds of a bustling crowd within…"

They continue through investigating the claims, finding out about the necromancer cult hidden deep beneath in the city’s sewers, and being regarded as heroes for driving them out of town… until one of them ends up being Ludger’s old roommate and reveals his magic to the rest of the city. They’re driven out by an angry mob and, Mimi says as she lifts her feet off of his legs and stands instead, that’s where they’re ending tonight. Jude and Leia both groan—she gives them both a level, tired look, and Jude shuts up at least—and Ludger sighs.

"She’s probably right. Do either of you need a ride?"

"Oh, not this time. Mom’s coming to pick us both up." Jude nods when Ludger glances at him to confirm, and he smiles.

"All right. Mimi, do you—"

"I’m staying over," she replies curtly. Leia gasps softly, raising her hands to cover her mouth—she’s no doubt thinking of something  _totally scandalous_ , and Ludger laughs while Mimi shifts her weight and frowns at the younger girl. “It’s nothing like that. I just don’t want to go home to a sick, whiny Milla.”

"That’s fine." Mimi glances at him when he talks and he smiles at her, catching the red that rises to her cheeks before she starts moving to his guest room. He sets his hands on his hips, watching her, and Leia scoots closer.

"Hey… Ludger… I’m just wondering, but are you two—"

A horn cuts in the middle and she frowns. Jude sighs in relief—Ludger’s sure he knows exactly what Leia’d be about to ask—and grabs her by the hand to pull her out to the waiting car. Ludger stays by the door until the headlights go out of sight, then turns

and jumps at Mimi peering over his shoulder. She jumps too, about three feet back, and fusses with her hair while he quietly shuts the door and relaxes against it. She glances back at him, the fussing slowing down, and steps closer. Soon, she’s close  enough to put her foot between his legs, for him to taste the strawberry perfume she loves to wear—and then, close enough for him to taste the cherry lip balm she insists on pairing it with. He starts to return it, raising his hands to her waist, but she turns away before he can and he’s left grasping at her hair.

Which she screeches at being pulled. He follows her to the bedroom, chuckling when she finally turns on him and trips over his slippers in the process. Mimi lands with a soft  _oomph_  on the blankets, scowling at him, and she slaps his hand away when he leans over her.

"You  _know_  not to pull my hair, Ludger.”

"Sorry," he murmurs, leaning over her again; she lets him this time and he kisses the side of her mouth, down the soft curve of her jaw until he settles in the crook of her neck. Mimi brushes her fingers against the nape of his neck, stopping and giving an over-dramatic grunt when he flops the rest of his weight on her. "Got a problem, Mimi?"

"You’re heavy."

"I don’t complain when  _you_  do this,” earns him a stinging smack on his shoulder before Mimi’s pulling his shirt up. He lifts a little to help her out, shivering when her nails drag skip down his back and a deep hum works it way from her throat right to his chest. Ludger grins into her skin and nips at it, wincing when she pinches his back and nudges at him with a soft  _get off, I have to brush my teeth_. He has to, too, so he helps her up and trades elbow jabs for space in his really-only-fits-one-person bathroom. They dress for bed—dress down in Mimi’s case, layers of warm winter clothing giving way to polka-dotted underwear Ludger snorts at seeing and yells when she throws a pillow in his face; he retaliates by firmly pulling a shirt on, ignoring her huff as she sits back on the bed.

He slides in beside her, slipping his arms around her waist and pressing her further into the pillows; he’s about kiss her for a good night and maybe a  _little_  more, with how frisky she’d been acting, but she stops him by pressing a dice she’d snatched from his bedside table against his forehead.

"Roll for initiative," she whispers, grinning when he pouts at her, and he bats the dice right out of her hand and replaces it with his instead.


	22. meet cute: grump and morning person edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A is reliant on a morning cup, sometimes two, sometimes four, cup(s) of coffee to really get the day started. Upon realizing there is no coffee left in the house, A brings a mug outside and, half-asleep, trudges down the street in slippers and a housecoat to the local cafe and demands coffee. B is the unfortunate patron behind A, who offers to pay for A’s coffee when A realizes there is no money kept in housecoat pockets. "

“Cream and sugar,” the woman in front of him says. Her hair's up in a messy bun, obviously as haphazardly put on as the rest of her ensemble seems to be, and she slams her mug on the counter when the barista doesn't immediately reply. “Two creams and three sugars,  _dammit_ , come on!”

Not a morning person, Ludger guesses, and he waits as the sharp-tongued young woman digs through her coat pockets with growing fervor. She swears twice—Ludger's ears color, someone  _that_  pretty shouldn't know the kind of language he'd hear shouted across the locker room—and the barista gives her a wide smile as he pushes her mug back towards her.

“Sorry. If you can't pay for it, we can't serve you it.”

“I'll pay for her,” Ludger pipes up—both the barista and the woman look at him, eyes wide, and he blushes under their scrutiny. Maybe Julius was right when he said he had too good of a heart, but the patron in front of him looked like she'd been about to have a meltdown over not getting her coffee... The barista shrugs, evidently not caring as long as it gets paid for, and he orders his own vanilla café au lait with two buttery croissants alongside her coffee. Once both are paid for and gotten, he guides her to a table by the front window and pulls out her seat; she doesn't thank him in words, but nods in his direction and grunts in a way that at least  _sounds_  more amicable than she'd been to the barista.

They sip their coffee in silence, each picking at one of the croissants. The more sips she takes, the better the young woman seems—at least until she catches her reflection in the window and turns away sharply, groaning about how terrible she looks. He can't deny that—she looks a mess—and sips his coffee when she looks at him and squints.

He wisely keeps his comments to himself and gets rewarded with a sigh and being able to gape that the mess of hair that comes tumbling out of her bun as she starts to fix it into something nicer.

“Do you come here often?” she asks—he shuts his mouth before she can catch him staring and shrugs, sipping his coffee. He knows his ears are red, and she must catch sight of it and think if something  _way_  different than almost being caught because her cheeks turn pink and she's leaning across the table to shake his arm. “I—I don't mean it in an asking-you-out way, I'm asking because I need to pay you back for the coffee!”

“I, uh, er, I knew...” He clears his throat, then continues, “I knew that.”

The woman's face flushes darker and she lets go of his arm, grabbing her mug instead. He waits a moment before he answers—“Every other day.”—and she nods, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. She does this for half a minute more, then takes his receipt and a pen from her coat to scribble something down; she studies his name on it before she pushes it towards him, tucking her pen back into her pocket. On it is eight digits and a name ( _Milla_ , oh, that really fits her), and he stares at the waxy paper quizzically.

“Call me the next time you come here,” she replies to his stunned silence, “and I'll pay for your coffee, since you—you paid for mine, and all.” Milla pauses, staring at him, and turns her face away; she props her chin in her hand, and her reflection frowns at the mussy state she's in. “I didn't even know your name. Why'd you do that for a total stranger?”

“I didn't want you to blow up at the barista.” She jerks around to him as soon as it's out of his mouth, scowling, and he raises his hands—okay, so maybe honesty  _isn't_  the best policy. “And—you looked tired. I would've felt bad if I ignored you, so...”

He rubs the back of his neck, offering a smile; her scowl relaxes and she taps her fingers against the side of her eye—everything about her goes from offended to fine in three seconds flat, and he quietly thanks the coffee gods for their calming effects on people who obviously aren't morning birds. She stands before she finishes eating, opting to take the croissant with her for the walk home, and purses her lips before she gives him a small smile that sends his heart fluttering unexpectedly and wondering just how mad she'd be if he just gave her a call now instead of later.


	23. "...like you a lot, too."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ludger/alt milla; 12. things you said when you thought i was asleep. requested by gravebreaker

"You’re not so bad," she murmurs behind him; he can feel her eyes against his back, and for once it feels like she’s not trying to burn holes through him. Ludger feels his lips twitch as Milla sighs. "Your cooking’s actually pretty good, and… I don’t think I mind you being nice—"

"Really?" He cuts in, shifting so he can lay on his back. Milla splutters through the rest of her sentence and tries to move away—he grabs her wrist, holds her in place. She stares down at him the way rabbits do when they’re under Rollo’s fat paw, but after a few minutes of quiet and a coaxing smile she lays back down. Their shoulders press together as he slides his hand to fit hers; she doesn’t hold his hand the way he does hers, her fingers straight while his curl into the grooves between her knuckles, but he can forgive it.

"I have no idea what you’re talking about," she replies; her voice sticks to the back of her throat even after she clears it, something he knows she’s embarrassed about. Something he knows  _happens_  when she’s embarrassed. He shakes his head, watching the contours of her face shift as she frowns at the sky (because, he knows, she can’t look him in the eye after he’s caught her confessing). “…How long were you awake?”

"Not too long." Ludger licks his lips; he turns to face her the same time she does, and both their eyes land on the clasped hands they’re bringing up for support. Milla’s face flushes, his own warms up, and when he thinks she’s about to jerk away, she… doesn’t. She just levels her gaze at him, chooses to ignore the fact they’re holding hands, and tells him to forget whatever she said. He laughs at that, clamping his mouth shut when her eyes narrow at him, and pulls their hands closer to him; her skin’s cool against his cheek, flexing instinctively. "That’s pretty hard to do, Milla. I mean, I kind of liked hearing that from you."

"Of course you did," she hisses in reply, scooting closer to lower their voices to conspirator levels. He swallows, leaning away, and she halts. Milla’s brow furrows, relaxes, and she’s the one pulling their hands back to press against  _her_  (hot) cheek. “Stop moving and don’t say anything. It’s easier to make sure no one else hears you being an asshole like this.”

"So you don’t just want an excuse to get closer to me?" he teases, immediately regretting it when her eyes widen and she sucks in a breath—but she surprises him, again, by looking down at the ground.

His stomach flutters up to where his heart should be.

Ludger tries to look her in the eyes, but she keeps avoiding it; her grip turns to iron when he cups her cheek and coaxes her into looking at him. He swallows back his hiking heart when she shyly ( _shyly_ , he thought he’d never use the word with her in mind) glances away, then back to him.

"I think your cooking’s amazing," he starts, and grins with his throat drying up when her skin alights against both his hands, "and I think you’re a really nice person under all that tough skin. Elle loves you, Rollo loves you, I…"

He drops off, pressing his lips together, because she’s giving him a look that pleads him to stop and not say the rest.


	24. mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “You can never do the right thing, can you?”

“You can never do the right thing, can you?”

Elle frowns, brow furrowing; she’s about to push open the door to see who Milla’s talking to, but a hand on her shoulder stops her. Ludger presses a finger to his lips and kneels beside her; they stay by the door, listening to Milla move in the room. They’re heavy and slow footsteps culminating in the familiar sound of her thumping back onto the bed, and Elle waits for her partner in crime to give a small nod to nudge the door open. They have a good view of Milla on the bed reflected in the mirror, and Elle crinkles her nose at a flash of boring grey underwear as the older woman sits up and glares at her reflection. It doesn’t seem like there’s anyone else in there, so—

“Who’s she talking to?” she whispers, looking up at Ludger; he’s averting his gaze, cheeks a little pink, and Elle fights the urge to roll her eyes. Boys and their being embarrassed at the stupidest things, she  _swears_. “Ludger. Luuuudger. Ludger!”

“Huh?” It’s too loud and Milla-in-the-mirror freezes; Ludger pales and Elle feels like slapping her forehead. She yanks him away, dragging him around the corner just as Milla rips open the door. Her heart thunders against her chest, and she can feel Ludger’s doing the same against her back. When they hear the door click shut, they breathe a sigh of relief—

until there’s a shadow cast over them, and they both slam backwards with a yelp. Milla stares down at them, face white and knuckles whiter. They’re in trouble, Elle realizes, and she looks up at Ludger—who shares her expression.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop,” Milla hisses. Elle swallows and shimmies out of Ludger’s grasp, puffing her chest out.

“It’s not eavesdropping if you’re not talking to anyone!”

“It still is!”

“It isn’t,” she raises her voice this time, and Ludger sets his hand on her head before she can do anything else. He pushes her down into a small bow, mimicking it with his head, and apologizes softly. She doesn’t get it—eavesdropping only works with conversations, she  _knows that_ , and she doesn’t know why they’d have to apologize, either—but she zips her questions when she catches the sad look Milla gives Ludger before she turns away with a sigh. The older woman disappears back into her room, and Elle slumps back against Ludger with a frown.


	25. five out of seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "How long has it been?"

Five minutes, according to his pocket watch, and Milla rests her head against the closet door. He feels bad for her—he knows she’s not particularly fond of cramped spaces, and she doesn’t seem too fond of him, either, so this… couldn’t exactly be her ideal round. She sighs and mutters something that sounds a lot like  _this could be worse_  and glances up at him, hands spread against the wood.

“They’re not gonna ask if we kissed or not, are they?”

“Well, er…” Typically, no, but Ludger glances at  the door—then her—then the door again. “They might?”

“You any good at lying?” She asks, then groans when he shakes his head. He frowns at her—as if  _she’s_  any better—and steps back as much as he can when she pulls herself off the door and turns around. Her chest puffs up and her chin matches it—she advances on him, face impassive. “Well, whatever. I guess that means we don’t have much of a choice in the matter.”

Her attempted nonchalance is dampened considerably by the flush spreading across her face as she speaks, and Ludger licks his lips. Much of a choice in the matter, what’d she mean by that—he knows what she means, especially given the circumstances and the game and the way she breaks eye contact with him for two seconds when he doesn’t say anything and squeezes her hands like she’s steeling herself.

Despite the steel, she’s soft. Her hands settle across his shoulders, her lips gently move into his, and the only thing ruining it is how tense the rest of her is. Ludger starts moving his hands the moment she moves away, reaching out and grasping… the air beside his thigh, because she’s turned and waiting expectantly for the door to open so she can leave.


	26. timewaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "I didn't know you could sing."

“It’s—it’s no big deal,” she replies with a huff, tucking her chin into her throat quietly. “Plenty of people can. What’s so special about me?”

“You don’t seem the type. To like singing, I mean, and if you’re this good then you probably sing a lot…?”

She levels her gaze at him, deciding if she wants to rebuke him for  _almost_  saying she didn’t seem like someone who could sing well, then shakes her head and picks out a few notes on the old piano she’d been messing with.

“Not really. It’d get quiet,” and lonely, she adds mentally, “by the shrine when I was waiting for my sister to come back, so I ended up using it as something to pass the time.”

She pauses, staring at the keys, and tries to remember the melody she had heard him humming when he put Elle to bed last night. “We used to sing together, too, when I was much younger. My sister had such a beautiful voice…”


	27. 3 lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Ludger:** You know what?  
>  **Fractured Milla:** What?  
>  **Ludger:** If I was a cat I’d want to spend all 9 of my lives with you.
> 
> (thanks, [incorrectxilliaquotes](http://incorrectxilliaquotes.tumblr.com))

“I’m pretty sure you don’t even have that many lives to spare,” Milla retorts once she’s done being stunned to silence. Ludger frowns, holding up his hands—he lowers his fingers one by one, mouthing off something (incidents?) and resting at three. She slumps against the couch, kicking her feet up onto the cushions, and he turns the remaining three fingers toward her.

“Then I’d want to spend my last three with you.”

“You’re cheesy. And stupid. And that’s dumb.” She covers her cheeks as she stumbles over her words, turning away—she doesn’t notice him press his arm into the cushions or lean forward. “What’re you trying to do anyway, saying stuff like that?”

“I’m flirting with you?” he offers, and Milla’s head snaps back towards him. Ludger jerks away in response, his fingers skirting against her stockings, and her leg jumps with it. He doesn’t notice the movement, and she covers her face with her hands as an annoyed whine works its way out of her throat.

“Why  _would_  you? There’s nothing to gain from it, so why would you flirt with me, I don’t even—” She bites her tongue and curls up, her legs pressing hard against her chest. “Don’t answer that.”


	28. full name confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so early 2000s. so cliche. so my weakness.
> 
> also, it goes without saying but i appreciate nice comments!

“I think,” Ludger says, breathless from laughing, “I might really like you, Milla Maxwell.”

She can’t breathe, looking at him and the edges of his grinning lips, the crinkle of his eyes and how startlingly green they are this close to her and paired with the red flush of his cheeks. It fades slowly, like leaves turning in the fall, until he’s staring at her the way she’s staring at him, mouth parted slightly and eyes wide. She closes her lips and swallows, leaning into his arms; her forehead comes to rest against his shoulder, her nails dig against his back, and she swallows again to try and loosen the tightness in her throat.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, carding his fingers through her hair. “I didn’t–I mean, I mean it, but–”

“Just shut up,” she finally manages to whisper. He stops for a moment, then resumes petting her hair. It feels nice, like when her sister had done it the few years before things started to go to total _shit_  between them, and Milla squeezes her eyes shut. She waits for a minute, counting the seconds with the beat of his heart against her chest, before she lifts her head and frowns at him. “Seriously, you have the worst timing–and who the hell uses someone’s full name? Not that,” her voice drops a little, and she slides her gaze away from him again, “Maxwell really belongs to me anymore anyway.”

“It’s still part of you,” he replies back immediately, and her look flinches back. He withers under her stare, wanting to shrink back, but Milla buries her face back in his shoulder with a small groan before he can.


	29. sweet & sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> five kisses in no particular order. from [here](http://30kisses.livejournal.com/262235.html#30kisses).

**1\. look over here**

Her irritation rises the longer Ludger tugs at her hands for her attention, and when she finally gives it to him his kiss catches on the very corner of her mouth. The irritation doesn’t melt away, like in some sappy love story–it spikes higher. First at him for making her feel like she’s some school girl with a crush, and second at herself for feeling that way. Milla doesn’t push him away, but she doesn’t pull him closer, either; she just stares at him, the centimeters between them stifling words in her throat.

**2\. news; letter**

“I don’t even know why I let myself think I could belong here in the first place,” she mutters, wrapping her arms around her knees. Ludger breaks the promise they’ve left unspoken between them by sliding an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. His mouth presses firm against her temple, and her bangs tickle his nose as he breathes out. There’s nothing he can say to make her feel any better, and he’s not even sure his actions help at all, but there’s nothing else he can do. Milla rests a hand where his throat meets his collar and curls her nails against his skin, but doesn’t push him away.

**3\. our distance and that person**

Jude leaves them with a tentative smile, and Milla lays her head on her arms. She listens to the gentle hum of the television ten feet from her, of the electricity that circuits through the entire apartment, and feels at a loss. Ludger’s hands alight on her shoulders next, and she jerks away from him as she sits up. He’s sporting a frustrated kicked puppy look, and Milla’s not sure if she’s any better. When she doesn’t do anything else, he kneels down in front of her and carefully takes her hand between both of his. Her face warms as he brings her curled fingers to his lips, pausing just enough for his breath to kiss her skin as he murmurs, “Don’t worry too much about it.”

**4\. “ano sa” (“hey, you know….”)**

“I’m not worried.”

She yanks her hand away with the retort and Ludger frowns, not believing her for a second--he catches her wrist before she gets too far and pulls her hand back to his lips. Her knuckles are white against his mouth, nails digging into her palms when he offers her a smile and she feels his kiss stretch.

“There’s nothing wrong with how you feel,” he tries. Milla shakes her head, easing his hand off her wrist as she replies:

“You don’t even know how I feel.”

**5\. the space between dream and reality**

The room is murky and dark and dizzying and suffocating in its quiet. It swims when she sits up and she moans softly, pressing her hand to her head–Ludger stirs behind her at the sound even as she tries to stifle it. His calloused fingers push between hers on her forehead and she jumps at his touch, silence replaced with her thundering heart and shifting sheets as she tries to untangle her legs from them. Ludger mumbles a sleepy complaint and pushes her back down; his eyes blink blearily at her as she scowls at him, the sheets tight in her fists.

She freezes when he leans over and kisses her forehead–it lasts a second, but it’s a second too long.

“You have a fever,” he says, and it sounds like he’s scolding her. Her words about him getting way too close for comfort die beneath her tongue, and she forces up new ones just as he steps out of the room to fetch some cold water.


	30. elle's picture book: lafrenze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [inspiration](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7w8LCPhFhgA)
> 
> all things are in a state of flux; as long as it flows, time is the same

He finds her sitting beside the dark, swirling river he’d been told to cross, singing to the souls screaming for her to drown in the water she’s dipped her feet into. She kicks her legs, voice rising above theirs combined, and Ludger picks out the song on his lyre.

The dead quiet. The girl’s singing ends as abruptly as she turns around; her bright hair lands wildly over her shoulders, framing wide red eyes, and he feels his heart seize. She nearly matches Lara in beauty, but not in grace or patience–he finds out both when she pulls herself free from the black river and stumbles to him. He catches her, angling his instrument to keep it safe from harm, and finds they’re not so different in height. She can look into his eyes without issue, and he finds himself staring more than he meant to.

His task was to cross the river and find Lara, no matter the perils he might face. He’d sworn it, and when he relays his plan to the woman gripping his arm–minus his beloved’s name–she laughs. The woman shakes her head, stepping back. (Ludger rubs his arm, feeling a bruise.)

“I can’t allow that,” she replies; her voice is clear and crisp and just as beautiful as her singing. Ludger wonders if she’s a siren or something like it, sent to sway men from their quests. She has the looks of them too, for certain, but she hadn’t sung to  _him_ –and he hadn’t felt compelled to love her or drown himself or anything the stories he’d heard as a child had said. “The dead stay with the dead, and the living stay with the living. That’s how it is.”

“Then why are you here?” he asks, and her expression tightens. She turns away from him, crossing her arms.

“I was tasked to guard this place by the old man that raised me. It’s for the good of everyone.” One by one, the candles begin to relight themselves, and the woman’s head jerks up to watch. She counts them beneath her breath,  _five six seven eight_ , and at ten she turns back around. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave,” she snaps, and he reels at how much harsher she is. “Right now.”

He does, his steps emboldened by the chill that settles seconds after her words. Her singing drifts behind him, echoing in the hallway he quickens his pace in, and he doesn’t realize he’s running until he has to skid to catch his balance to turn a corner. His lungs burn as he tries to catch his breath, and in the hall beside him a rotting company drags themselves along, to Hades’ River.

* * *

Repeat visits to the river he  _has_  to cross, at all costs, leave him all too warm and apologizing in his hideout for the feelings bundling in his chest every time the woman guard (Milla, he’s learned her name to be) opens herself a little more to him. He knows more than just her name–he knows of her guardian, of what lies in wait just beyond her river and when the dead cross with shallow breaths, hoping for paradise and turning into an angry mass when they realize they’ve been had. He knows she’s been alone and of her promise to the late old man who’d taken care of her, that she’s otherwise an orphan and honoring his dying wishes are as important to her as the living are. 

Ludger knows she likes him. She’s careful not to to get to close to him, unlike the first day they’d met, or to touch him at all–aside from the few times her freezing feet brush against his legs when she pulls them from the water. She always blushes, rises, and commands him to leave in a stutter voice. He listens to her, promising to return and sees the sun rise in her eyes every time.

Except for once. He takes her hand in the middle of her gesture and watches everything in her lock in place. She stares, sentence half finished, and he stands beside her.

“Milla,” he whispers, and she twists his hand in hers. She steps forward, presses their lips together, and Ludger slides his other arm around her waist. The kiss is short despite that; Milla still tells him to leave despite that; and Ludger does as he’s asked, despite that.

The “one” kiss becomes “two” and “three” kisses, and he knows in his heart this is terrible. His beloved waits for him; the woman on top of him is needy and kissing him as if he’ll disappear the second he stops; the dead are completely silent. The only sounds are made by them, the living gasping for breath and scraping against the stone. Milla sits up, frenzy in her fingertips, and Ludger pushes his free hand against her mouth before she can come down again. Her breathing evens out eventually, her eyes narrowing back to their ordinary width. She swallows hard and peels his hand off her mouth; she clasps it between hers and rests against him, tucked beneath his chin, her ankles against his feet.

“Sorry,” she pipes. Ludger shakes his head, staring across the river at the souls watching them. Milla echoes his movement with a heavy sigh. “I shouldn’t have–it’s–”

“It's fine, Milla.” His tongue feels heavy, but he forces himself to continue on. “I didn’t mind. In fact, I’d…”

Milla angles her head to look at him, ruby-colored eyes curious and expectant. He dips his head and kisses her neck, squeezing her legs between his when she gasps and her pulse bounces against his lips.

* * *

“I thought you’d never come,” Lara breathes against his lips, the ones that’d been mapping the gatekeeper’s body hours before. Ludger smiles at her, gripping her hand tightly. “Oh, Ludger, I was afraid I’d never see you again.”

“I swore to find you, and I have.”

She nods and they make their way from her prison to the river; the candles are lit, their keeper watching the other side in worry. When their eyes lock, she springs to her feet with a smile–

it drops as Lara steps to his side. Ludger doesn’t look at Milla as he steps across the river with his beloved, guilt clawing his stomach. Lara spares her a glance, but she doesn’t speak; neither does Milla. It’s only after they’re into the hallway her voice starts up, but the song isn’t the solemn, sweet one she usually performed to soothe the tumultuous souls. It’s wretched and high, spinning the way he can imagine her doing so, falling and rising just as quickly in some sort of maddening chant. Lara shivers behind him.

The song grows louder the further they got from the room, until they’re running up steps he doesn’t remember, and it’s deafening–echoing–suffocating. Lara trips and he turns to catch her, only to realize his mistake.

He’s alone. The land is barren, windy, and voiceless.


	31. "chopping vegetables"

“We were just--chopping vegetables,” Mimi retorts. Ludger chokes on his drink and she glowers at him. Her face is getting warmer and warmer, and she’s pretty sure the redness in his cheeks isn’t from the cup he’s drinking out of. Julius stares for a moment, disbelief plain.

And she can’t honestly blame him for it. He walked in on them after all. Julius merely sighs, pressing his glasses against the bridge of his nose.

“Just… make sure you aren’t  chopping vegetables ,” God when he says it like that it makes her want to die, “when Elle’s around, all right? I don’t think Victor would be very pleased to have his daughter introduced to the concept at such a young age.”

“Of… of course,” Ludger replies, covering his face with his free hand. “Don’t worry, big brother. We’ll be more careful next time.”

“ If there’s a next time,” Mimi mutters and buries her face in her arms when she glances at Ludger and finds his expression mirroring hers the last time they’d gone to a haunted house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sry this is short let it tide you over until i can finish this bigger thing i'm working on


	32. soft like cotton candy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a practice in writing atmosphere.

He’s always been gentle with her--considerate, Leia had called him, and in the same breath admitted to the group of girls that had gathered (unable to sleep, they decided to talk) she couldn’t read him. Milla watches him lay breathing beside her--his eyes remind her of the pools she loved to dance barefoot in, blue and green and shining, but they’re not shallow the way the pools had been, ankle-deep and cool. They’re warm and there’s something in there she doesn’t know she wants to acknowledge: something that lumps in her throat, something she can’t swallow no matter how much she tries, something that’s hard to look away from but she does it anyway, afraid of choking on the growing hardness in her throat. Unreadable, Leia had said.

Maybe he is, because sometimes she can’t tell what he’s thinking when he smiles at her and when he moves a little closer to her than the rest of them do, or when he offers to push her on the swings outside of his apartment while they’re resting between errands, or when he presents her various Elympion fashions because  they reminded me of you. Maybe there isn’t anything more to those gestures than genuine affection and a sincere wish to be friends and get along; maybe she’s trying to find hidden motives where there aren’t any just to stop herself from liking him.  He taps her shoulder, worry swimming in his look, and she rolls her eyes. “Don’t look like that,” she huffs.

“I’m just thinking,” Milla adds, a little quieter, and the worry doesn’t fade. His fingers rest against her arm, stretching like he wants to hug her, and she shifts closer to him. It has to be better than looking at his face and seeing it taut with emotions she doesn’t want to consider him having for her, and she finds it isn’t. Sufficiently frustrated, Milla presses her face into the crook of his neck. Ludger tenses up for a moment, his breath stilled--but he relaxes again, once he’s sure she isn’t going to hit him or anything, and his pulse stays skipping against the bridge of her nose. She snorts, pushing her hands around his back (he lifts a little to comply, his own arms settling behind her) until she links them together. “What’s got your heart going so fast?”

“You,” he answers easily--no second thoughts, and his neck grows hot against her forehead. He clears his throat (she feels that like she feels the hum of his voice, and it isn’t bad. It isn’t bad at all) right after and swallows. “I--er.”

“Do I always?” she asks and immediately regrets doing so. She wishes she could bury herself and settles for burying her face against his neck further, the smell of Trigelph on his skin and against her chapped lips. He groans in a way she can only feel the vibrations of and squeezes her.  Don’t answer that rests on her the edge of her tongue, almost out her lips, but it can’t quite come out, and after a moment of serious deliberation Ludger rests his head against hers.

“Not like this.”

Milla knows her breath is sharper when she inhales and she knows that Ludger feels it because they’re cuddled too close for him not to. He rubs circles between her shoulder blades the same way he does for Elle when she’s upset. It doesn’t wet her throat or settle her twisting stomach; it just gets her to sit up on an elbow, staring down at him. Milla hesitates before she cups his cheek--his eyes widen at the gesture, and she becomes  very aware that this is the first time she’s ever touched him this softly.

“Not like this,” she repeats back at him in attempt to distract him from the gesture. Milla stretches her legs out and feels her feet catch on his pajamas, and she wastes no time in tugging the legs of them up to press her cold, bare feet against his ankle. Ludger jerks his foot away, but she pulls it back, toes curled in hem of his pants leg. “Then like what, exactly.”

“Worry, mostly. Muzét was right when she said you run into things without thinking.” Ludger curls his hand against the small of her back once he realizes she’s not moving her freezing feet; he picks at her shirt until he’s pulled it up enough to rub the bared skin, his hands  not as cold as they could be but enough for them to coax goosebumps to pimple up. She frowns at him and pinches his earlobe; she tries hard not to smile when he yelps and jerks his head back. “Ow,  Milla .”

“I can take care of myself. I spent years practicing that.” She fakes for his ear again and grabs the back of his neck instead; she pulls him back to her, marveling at his pulse against the heel of her hand. The drumming against her skin doesn’t match his tight look, and Milla eases her grip. “Don’t look like that. It’s just fact. Even if my sister could’ve taken care of herself,”  even if I hadn’t messed up and caused her to go blind remains firmly stuck in her mind as she scolds him, “I would’ve learned to do it. I was Maxwell, Ludger. I’ve never gotten the chance to live peacefully.”

“Did you want to?” he asks, and she can tell that he wants to take it back as much as she wanted to take back her earlier question. And he tells her, voice soft against softer sheets, that she doesn’t have to answer. It just slipped out.

“It’s just a question.” It’s not one with an easy answer, but it’s just a question. Milla eases herself back into the mattress, turning away from him. Ludger adjusts his position and wraps his arms loosely around her middle, his hands ghosting her stomach. “I did, sometimes, but I was the only one who could’ve been Maxwell. No one else could’ve destroyed Exodus or kept Rieze Maxia safe. It had to be me.

“That…” she trails off, watching the far side of the room. The walls feel like they’re closing in on her. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t wonder what it’d be like to just grow up normally, without ever having been Maxwell. It wasn’t often,” Milla clarifies, turning her head sharply so she can see him from the corner of her eye. His eyebrows are drawn together, his gaze focused, and it’s obvious he’s stopped listening to her, immersed in his own thoughts. She huffs, gently jabbing her elbow into his stomach. “If you’re gonna ask me something, the  least  you could do is listen when I’m talking!”

“Sorry,” he says, wincing. “You were saying?”

“I wondered what it’d like to grow up normally sometimes. That’s all. It’s hard to imagine the villagers treating me like any other person though, and not being Maxwell isn’t something I’d want. After all, if I’d never been Maxwell, if I’d just been some ordinary woman, I wouldn’t have--” She clamps her mouth shut, watching Trigleph’s lights play across the ceiling. Finishing that sentence--thinking of it--makes her want to hide in his blankets and pretend she’s alone again, that her foot isn’t always in her mouth and that she’s not on the precipice of the Kijara Seafalls about to tip off of it with the weight of the feelings locked in her chest.

Ludger’s quiet for a time, waiting for her to finish--but when it becomes clear she isn’t going to, he pulls away. She hates the sudden rush of cold that fans across her back and her shoulders as he detaches from her and hunches her shoulders. The bed shifts (it’s easy to guess he’s sitting up) and his feet press together, one of his knees awkwardly jamming in the crook of her own.

“...Wouldn’t have?” he coaxes, and Milla feels her face color.

“I wouldn’t have…” She fidgets, the room cold against her cheeks. “I wouldn’t have met you. Or Elle,” she adds, quickly enough that Ludger chuckles. She lays on her back with a huff, narrowing her eyes at him in the dark. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he replies with a voice strained with laughter. She sits up fully and smacks the back of his shoulder, irritation fading into amusement when he yelps and clutches the offended area. Milla relaxes into watching him and the fall of his shoulders as he settles his hands in his lap. His grin hasn’t faded, the light and warmth in his eyes shimmering when he looks at her, and the breath knots in her breast. She inches her hand towards his, stops, and draws it back to her side.

“I’m glad you were Maxwell,” Ludger says, turning his face away from her again. She nods mutely, swallowing another urge to take his hand in hers. “I’m glad I got to meet you, Milla.”

“Don’t say it like that,” she scolds softly. He looks at her, forehead creased, and she clears her throat; she reaches over; and she takes one of his hands, pulling it from his lap and pressing it against the bed. Milla leans in, butting foreheads with him when he moves closer (caught by surprise and following his hand) and pouts. “I’m not going anywhere, you know. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried at this point.”

Ludger blinks his wide eyes at her; he turns their hands until their fingers link together, and he smiles, expression relaxing with it. It feels like Efreeta, warm and stifling, but in a good way.

“I’d never dream of it.”


	33. storefront

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> high school au

Getting used to going out is a lot easier than she’d built it up to be. 

Ludger’s hand is warm in her jacket pocket, his fingers squeezing hers as they walk. His head is bowed so he can stutter his steps, trying to match his timing to hers like they’re middle schoolers again. It’s cute, but distracting, and after they narrowly avoid bumping into a third person Milla tugs him to a storefront and watches their breaths mingle when he stops a few inches from her. He’s so  _cute_  with his stupid dyed bangs and how they’re getting too long so he has to tilt his head to look through them, his dumb green eyes wide and a smile stretching across his lips. He’s so cute and she _hates it_ , hates the way it makes her tug him down to close the couple of centimeters they have between their heights to kiss him with people passing by. 

His other hand tangles in the back of her head, pressing closer. She responds by leaning back against the cold glass, tilting her head a little to catch more of him, and when he finally pulls away she swears there’s enough heat to melt the snow around them and enough electricity to power a city block. Milla licks her lips, leaning closer for another one and shaking her head the next second, closing her eyes as she turns away.

“We have to get to class,” she mutters. “We’ll miss the train if we keep idling here.”

“You’re the one who stopped,” he reminds her in a tone she’s come to love and hate in equal measure (gently teasing, a smile evident even when it’s not on his lips). “Are you sure you’re not just stalling for time because you don’t want to split up?”

Milla’s cheeks burn as she shakes her head, ducks her mouth into her scarf, and yanks him along to the station.


	34. disproportionate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> implied one-sided

She knows she likes him a hell of a lot more than he likes her.

He smiles at her. He looks at her when he thinks she isn’t looking, with those curious and concerned eyes. He teases her about her relationship with Elle, he asks her questions about her life, and when she snaps at him for both things he doesn’t back down for long. Those become easier to stomach and answer the longer they travel together, but nothing else he does does. He catches her wrist every time she tries to storm from a room, lips pursed. Sometimes he apologizes. Sometimes she does. He doesn’t mind it when she leans against him after a battle, or when she nitpicks the order (or the lack-there-of) of his ingredients on the counter, or when she opens her mouth to say something and closes it just as fast, shaking her head. He asks if she’s okay when he catches her being quiet–citing this, even, as a reason to be worried. 

Still, she likes him more than he likes her, and she hates every

single

second of it. She hates liking him, because she involuntarily jerks her hand away when their fingers brush. She abhors liking him, because she jumps when he touches her shoulders and arms and hair. She wishes she could unlike him, because it would be better than feeling her chest cave in whenever he blushes and stutters around the people in their group he _does_  like to the same extent she likes him. Anything would be better than feeling sick around him, or worrying over her appearance when it’s just the two of them, or not being able to keep the strain out of her voice when she denies there’s anything between them. Anything at all would be better than grasping at straws for hope that hey, look, maybe they’re on the same page about this, maybe he _does_  like her the way she likes him and she isn’t just fooling herself like the nagging voice that sounds like her sister’s keeps saying.


End file.
